


Family and Old Boots

by PastyPirate



Series: Immortality and Family [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (but only hinted at), At the friends stage, Attempts at historical accuracy, Character Death, Demisexual Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nicky holds a baby, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Probably falling short there, Rated For Violence, References to Andy and Quynh, Yusuf holds a baby, but ... ya know not permanent, hints of jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastyPirate/pseuds/PastyPirate
Summary: Yusuf couldn’t help but snort, drawing Nicolò’s glare.“It’s not funny,” Nicolò said over the burst of Yusuf’s laughter. “I don't see why it’s only happening to me and not to you.”“God loves me more,” Yusuf said quickly, as he had many times before.In the early days of their friendship, Nicky and Joe stumbled across a family in need of their particular brand of help.Technically a prequel to Driving Lessons, but stands alone.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Immortality and Family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918057
Comments: 94
Kudos: 597





	Family and Old Boots

They stopped at the crossroads; Nicolò’s litany of curse words in Ligurian and Latin sank into the rock covered road towards the grassy valleys. Before Nicolò could follow his words to the ground, Yusuf offered his shoulder. It happened more times than he could count in the last six months since they’d gotten the damn things. 

Nicolò’s hand curled around Yusuf’s shoulder blades, his other going to the heel of his boot and pulling them off quickly. Rocks tumbled out and clattered onto the ground. 

Yusuf couldn’t help but snort, drawing Nicolò’s glare. 

“It’s not funny,” Nicolò said over the burst of Yusuf’s laughter. “I don't see why it’s only happening to me and not to you.”

“God loves me more,” Yusuf said quickly, as he had many times before. “Although it does seem to have gotten worse as of late.” 

“Fuck, no wonder,” Nicolò tilted the boot in his hand. Showing Yusuf a small hole that had formed between the heel and the sole. 

“Can you mend that?” Yusuf had seen Nicolò mend most of his clothes by himself, and been able to turn an old coat full of stabbed cuts into a bag to carry food in. Whenever Yusuf asked about it Nicolò would just shrug and say _It's important to be able to fix things._

“I think so,” Nicolò said, pulling the boot back on again and switching to his other foot. This time Yusuf offered a hand, already missing the grip on his shoulder. Nicolò wasn’t one to be touched often. 

“We’ll not get you such cheap boots next time. Surely you had better ones before you left Genoa.” Yusuf said, watching Nicolò right himself. The blush on Nicolò’s cheeks and across his nose was unexpected. Yusuf loved when he blushed. It was fairly rare, and like the rainbow he sought it whenever it rained. 

“Someone ate them.” Nicolò finally muttered. 

“ _What_ ” Yusuf said. 

“We didn’t have much food during the Siege of Antioch alright? Someone stole them while I slept and made them into a stew.” 

“Did they at least offer you some?” Yusuf asked. He could tell from the blush that it was a sensitive topic -the siege often was what with both of them being on the opposite sides of the war. He did his best not to laugh although if he laughed the blush would spread. A tempting sight that was even rarer. 

“Of course not.” Nicolò let go of Yusuf’s hand, and crouched down to pull up the useless edges of the boot. “You know this wouldn’t be so much of a problem if we got horses.” 

“Good boots are cheaper than good horses.” Yusuf said, the argument was frequent, even before they’d haggled for the boots and Nicolò only had sandals. 

Yusuf could almost mouth along with Nicolò’s response as he said it, “Yes but the dream-women seem to be in the far east now. Horses would get us there quicker.” 

Yusuf wasn’t sure what waited for them when they met the dream-women. Maybe they were their doom. Maybe meeting up with them meant that they’d have to split up. He didn’t like to rush into uncertainty. “Walking will get us there just fine. Especially with the mountains in the way.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re a bad rider.” The insult was a new addition to the conversation, but Nicolò didn’t catch him off guard. 

“No one has complained about my riding before,” With that he shot the still flushed Nicolò a grin. 

“What do you mean, I thought you’ve only ridden that one time in --” Nicolò started, clearly lost in translation. Yusuf just widened his grin. 

“Stop it.” Nicolò said, shifting his gaze forward. Whenever sex was brought up Nicolò always needed a moment to collect himself. Usually while Yusuf laughed. He wasn’t sure what it was but he was fairly certain it was a Catholic thing. 

Yusuf took the opportunity to turn his smiling face away, so as to not offend his friend. When he saw something on the Northern road that chased away his smile altogether. A woman drove a cart, her face as stony as if it was carved from the rocks they stood on, and two men just behind her. One didn’t travel as much as Yusuf and not get a sixth sense for trouble. 

Yusuf raised a hand in greeting, “Cousin!” 

The woman’s eyes snapped to him, studying him as a potential threat. Nicolò was quiet behind him, hopefully ready to play along. 

“Cousin! Is that you? We’ve come from town to meet you partway.” Yusuf stepped further into the road, as if he was waiting for the cart to catch up to him. He could hear footsteps echoing him. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, “ah, Cousin.” She patted the bench next to her. “Your companion looks exhausted.” 

Yusuf looked back at Nicolò, the dark rings under his eyes almost looking like bruises despite how quickly they healed. He turned to the woman, “That’s just what he looks like.” 

“Thanks for that,” Nicolò muttered under his breath, but he kept up with Yusuf’s step, and the woman slowed her cart down. 

“You keep an eye on the men, I’ll see what’s going on.” Yusuf said, and climbed up to take the seat next to the woman. He didn’t need to glance back to see if Nicolò followed directions, but he did anyways. Just in time to see how Nicolò’s muscled arms twitched as he swung himself up to sit next to the wares. He pulled his longsword out of his belt, settling it across his lap. 

Yusuf looked back towards the road, the woman sped back up again, encouraging the mules that led her cart. “Now Cousin, how does this day find you?” 

The day did not find her well. She kept it to herself, not explaining why, but Yusuf hadn’t managed to survive so long without learning how to read between the lines. She didn’t speak of the men, just of the errand that brought her to town. 

It wasn’t until they got to town that the woman slacked her hold on the reins, and turned to Yusuf, “Are they gone?” 

“My tired friend scared them off with his glare,” Yusuf said, he could hear Nicolò snort from somewhere behind him. 

“I appreciate it. They wouldn’t have done anything.” She said with enough conviction that Yusuf knew it wasn’t true. 

“We’re glad to help. We were coming this way anyway,” Yusuf lied, looking around the town, ready to round out his lie with a truth, “we’re always looking for work and towns are good places to find them.” 

It’s a soft offer. The woman could ignore him, then Yusuf could trail off and try to find some actual work to buy Nicolò some proper boots. Or she could read between the lines and say -

“What kind of work?” She asked, Nicolò stepped around the cart to her side, offering up his arm to her. Always the gentleman. 

“Oh, whatever really. I’ve never seen a household that didn’t need some extra muscle around harvest, someone who can lift the -” he looked at the back of the cart, saw heaps of spun wool “- sheep around.” 

“Can you lift sheep then?” She asked, stepping around to the front of her horses, “how are you with horses?” 

“My friend here loves them.” Yusuf said, ignoring the steady gaze that Nicolò put on him. 

“Does your friend speak?” She asked. 

“He does,” Nicolò said, trying to disguise his accent as much as possible, with mixed results. “I’ve trained with horses since I was young.” 

The woman studied him for a bit, before looking up at Yusuf, “I’m Ester.” 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò said, pointing to Yusuf. 

“Nico,” Yusuf said, pointing back and cutting off the part that most struggled with in these parts. They agreed it’d be easier to go without family names, just for the time being. One of their last names always seemed to get them into trouble. 

“Go get whatever it is you need from town. Be back here at noon.” She looked up at the sky, before looking back at them, “I have to be home before supper and I don’t lollygag.” 

Nico and Yusuf nodded, before going towards town just to kill time.

# 

Ester had seven children still living, in the kind of blessing that every countryside family hoped for. Each one was more obedient and helpful than the last, and all of them smiled at her like the sun rose in her eyes. Stepping onto her farm was like stepping out of a harsh world into a brief fantasy of what life could be like if you had a family that loved you.

Nicolò stayed a few steps behind Yusuf as they got the tour of the land, just like he did in marketplaces. While they were both strangers in strange lands, Yusuf had a smack of familiarity about him to the locals. A dialect with the same origin, the same religion, the same values. Even when he was dressed the part Nicolò stood out like a sore thumb. He was getting better, blending in a bit more, learning the language. He didn’t bother trying to grow a beard because no matter how hard he tried it came in patchy. But it was still best to let Yusuf lead. 

Besides, walking behind Yusuf gave Nicolò a chance to listen to Arabic as spoken by someone else. Arabic was the spine they had to walk along. Nicolò found himself trying to learn the spine, as well as the ribs of dialects that circled around in order to help protect the vital organs instead of trying to find a place to slide his dagger through. If it was just the two of them chatting then Yusuf had the tendency to slip into the comfortable mix of Ligurian and Tounsi that they had cobbled together in the months they first knew each other. As both of their Latin and Arabic managed to only carry them so far. 

Ester seemed to prefer to use Arabic when speaking to Yusuf, probably because she assumed, like so many others, that Nicolò didn’t understand Persian. She wasn’t entirely wrong. 

The younger children, however, bombarded him with questions in Persian one piling on top of the other before he was drowning in a sea of inquiries. A girl separated herself from the others, and began to shoo them away. _Can’t you see he has no idea what you’re saying?_ she said to the kids, before shooting him an apologetic smile. 

“I’ll get you set up in the old stables, there’s nothing more to be done today and the children need to get to bed. I’ll summon you in the morning and give you your tasks for the day,” Ester said, gesturing towards a smaller stable that sat behind the massive one her eldest boy pulled the horses into as they arrived. 

“It doesn’t smell great in here, we haven’t torn it down yet. It won’t fall in the night,” Ester said, pulling the door open and walking in. Nicolò didn’t care, he was just happy to not have to sleep outdoors. He hoped it’d rain so he could hear the rain from inside instead of feeling it fall on his head. 

“Your generosity is unending,” Yusuf said. He always managed to sound perfectly earnest, it always impressed Nicolò, although he was sure that Yusuf was just as happy as him to be sleeping indoors. 

She led them up a ladder into the loft, and gestured towards a patch of wood between two stacks of hay. “I hope you can both fit in here, the bottom level is a bit muddy. 

“This is perfect,” Nicolò said, then Yusuf quietly repeated the last word he said in a way that meant he hadn’t said it right the first time. Nicolò gave it another shot, “Perfect.” Yusuf gave him a quick nod, and continued to look around. 

“You two are quite the pair. How did you find each other?” 

Nicolò and Yusuf shared a look, but it was Yusuf who responded, a smile on his face, “The Siege at Jerusalem. We found ourselves fighting near each other on the battlefield.” Nicolò glanced away, not wanting his face to give away how close they fought on the battlefield. 

“Ah,” Ester said, after neither of them elaborated. “Now here’s some food for you --”

“Oh, food wasn’t included in the salary we discussed-” Yusuf started, rejecting even as Nicolò’s stomach lurched. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. As long as you stay here you’ll be eating with us. I figured you’d want to settle in tonight,” She produced two pastries, one for each of them, “there. And you’ll probably want to clean in the morning. I send the older children to do laundry in a river nearby. You can go with them although I ask that you take turns washing up as the children can be -” she clucked once, and looked up at them, “- Iqbal’s men has been known to wait there. I can’t be everywhere at once.” 

“We shall protect your children,” Yusuf said, patting his hand on his sword. 

“Who is this Iqbal?” Nicolò asked, knowing Yusuf would’ve preferred the indirect route. 

Ester sighed and sat on a barrel. “He and my husband were childhood friends. They fought together in Constantinople back before we were married. Now that my husband has passed away Iqbal is claiming that he was sworn to some of my farm animals. If there was any such promise I would’ve known of it. He just wants to reap the benefits of our hard work.”

“How many men does he have? Was he of the two who followed you today?” Nicolò asked. 

“Ten. He’s a powerful man in these parts. He’s mentioned that he’d be willing to forgive the promise if I was to marry him -” she looked out of a narrow window that looked over the field, “or if I promised one of my daughters to him.” 

Yusuf and Nicolò shared a look. The eldest daughter they had seen was fourteen.

“Don’t worry, we won’t let him touch a hair on anyone’s head, let alone your daughters’” Yusuf said. 

“You are just two men, they are eleven.” 

“Let us worry about the numbers.” Nicolò said, “We’re a lot stronger than we look.” 

“Don’t worry about Iqbal,” Ester said, clapping her hands on her knees before standing up, “I just wanted you two to know what you’re in for over the next couple weeks. Iqbal and his men have been slouching around and trying to scare me into agreeing to something that I will not agree to.” 

Ester went down the ladder, but before her head disappeared in the hole she said, “let me know if you need anything.” 

And she was gone. 

Nicolò took a bite of the pastry as soon as she was gone. Juicy lamb flooded his senses, overriding the spices that came with it. He wouldn’t have been able to stop the moan if he tried. He took another bite just as quickly. The flakey crust falling apart in his mouth. 

“Good Pirashki then?” Yusuf asked. Nicolò turned to see that his friend hadn’t even taken a bite of his own. 

“What? Are you worried it’s poisoned? She doesn’t seem the type.” Nicolò said around the mouthful of food, before he swallowed.

“No, it just seems like you’re enjoying it a lot.” Yusuf said, taking a bite. He nodded appreciatively at the food. 

“We’ve had nothing but old dried meat for days, weeks even,” Nicolò said, looking at the lamb inside the pastry pocket, “this tastes like heaven.”

“It does,” Yusuf said, then he gestured with the pastry, “we’re taking care of this Iqbal man. I don’t like the sound of him. I bet that if we don’t intervene he’ll take one of the girls. Or murder them all.” 

Nicolò nodded, his mouth too full to try and talk. Normally he argued against going straight to murder. And pointed out first that they’d have to make sure that the man was as evil as he seemed, but Nicolò knew that Yusuf didn’t need reminding on that front. 

“What, no more moans for the food?” Yusuf said with a grin. 

Nicolò just ignored him, and started to nudge his boots off to settle in for the night. 

“We’ll take the money from this gig and go stay at a proper inn, and eat proper food, where you can get drunk enough that you can chase a skirt if you’d like.” Yusuf said through rustling fabric. 

Nicolò snapped his head back towards Yusuf, “What? Do I give off the impression that’s what I want?” 

Instead of coming eye to eye with his friend, he saw smooth expanses of muscle, firmly packed abs from swinging a scimitar into immortality, and his friend’s head stuck in a tunic with his hand struggling to keep hold of his pastry. Nicolò nearly blushed and turned away, but he focused on the absurdity of it. It should be absurd, not churning a fire in the pit of his stomach. Nicolò reached forward and grabbed the pastry out of his hand. 

“Thanks for that. And no, you’ve never given the impression of being interested in anyone,” Yusuf said, folding his shirt and dropping it onto his bag, “But you also don’t complain. If you wanted to pass a little time -” 

“I don’t,” Nicolò said. The old disclaimer of _I was a priest_ dying on his tongue before he could deliver it. “I’m not one for loving and leaving.” 

“What a shame for the world.” Yusuf said, taking back his pastry, “all the people who have ever seen you are left with a sadness they cannot abide -”

“Probably because they saw you next to me.” Nicolò shot back, not in the mood for Yusuf’s playful compliments. He never quite knew what to do with compliments. To accept them felt false, to reject them felt rude. Yusuf chuckled, Nicolò wasn’t sure what the joke was. 

“Did you already finish your pastry?” Yusuf asked instead of tripping them down the conversational path further. 

Nicolò showed his empty hands as a response. Yusuf dropped the last half of his pastry in Nicolò’s outstretched hands. 

“You’re not hungry?” Nicolò asked. Three years ago he would’ve rejected the offer outright. They were still stepping gingerly around each other even then. 

Yusuf’s back (threaded muscle flexing as he moved his arms, preparing for bed) was to him when he responded. “Not at all. I find dried meat to be very filling. And you’re clearly enjoying the pirashkis more than me.” 

Nicolò hesitated, waiting for Yusuf to change his mind. Then he took a bite, and another. Very soon there was no food left and all Nicolò could do was say “Thanks, I did really like them.”

# 

Sunrise found Nicolò hunched over his boots, studying his handiwork around the hole that he patched up. Yusuf shifted in his bed, rolling over to face him.

“Did you sleep at all?” He asked, his head dropping onto the floor. 

“A bit,” Nicolo said, holding up his boots, “I think I fixed them.” 

“We’ll use the money from this job and get you better boots.” Yusuf said, feeling his spine pop into place as he stretched. It was odd the creaks and groans that stayed, and what went away. He no longer got back pains from walking too much, but everything still cracked, and Nicolò’s bags shone through. 

“I thought we were going to use the money for an inn.” Nicolò said, pulling on his boots. 

“Well if you don’t need the company of a woman-” Yusuf started, Nicolò snorted, “- oh am I wrong? Would you prefer-”

“It sounds like someone else has company on their mind,” Nicolò stood up, dusting off his tunic as he did so. It was a plain grey tunic, the type that was favored that far east. It didn’t stick close to his form, and the embroidery embellished along a straight line that went from Nicolò’s chin to the hem. Yusuf had bought it for him, specifically because it brought out the blue in his eyes. 

“Yusuf?” Nicolò asked, “Did I offend you?”

Yusuf’s mind scrambled back to their conversation, “no, not at all. I do not have company on the mind.” How was he supposed to say that the only company he thought of as of late was Nicolò’s? He was sure it was just because of their sustained proximity. It’d pass like the anger he once held towards him. 

Nicolò just hummed, and gestured towards his boots, “how do they look?”

Yusuf kneeled, and leaned forward, ignoring how tall Nicolò looked in the loft, how the pose could be slightly different if things weren’t what they were. He studied the boots, “Are they just going to break again in a few days?”

“They wouldn’t if we got horses.” Nicolò sounded strangely choked up, Yusuf glanced up, and saw nothing amiss with him. 

“We can’t afford a night in the inn, we can’t afford boots, we can’t afford anything but dried meat but sure, we’ll get some horses.” 

“Fine,” Nicolò bit out, he stepped away from Yusuf, turning a back on him to sit heavily at the end of his bedspread. “If we find someone who is committing a crime and has horses -”

The door below squeaked open, Nicolò stopped mid sentence to turn and say, “quick put on your shirt.” 

Yusuf was already grabbing it from the haystack. Taking it off had been an odd impulse in the first place. He missed sleeping in a place where he felt safe enough to take off all his clothes. The night before as they were sheltered from the elements, and Nicolò had dropped into easy friendship, he’d felt some proximity of safety he hadn’t felt since he stepped on a ship heading towards Jerusalem. 

He had his shirt down as Ester’s second eldest daughter popped her head over the lip of the hole. Ajde was under half their age but had followed Nicolò around the evening before like a puppy desperate for scraps. It was probably his quiet nature, he drew quiet people to him. 

“Mother said you’re to come down to breakfast, and then we’re all to go to the river. Please bring anything you need washed as well.” She cleared her throat slightly, glancing at Nicolò. Yusuf couldn’t see his face but he was sure Nicolò was gracing her with one of his quiet smiles. “She said that she didn’t want the villagers thinking she didn’t treat her people right. Come quick.”

Breakfast they ate alone, everyone else having already taken their slice of buttered bread before getting to their chores. The bread apparently wasn’t as robust as the lamb, as Nicolò chewed it silently, following the children to the river. 

“I think I’ve bathed more in the last four years with you then in the four years it took me to get to Jerusalem.” Nicolò said. “Everytime I turn around someone is offering me a bath and I find it’s because you inquired after one.” 

Yusuf grinned, “that explains why we could smell you all coming.” 

Nicolò rolled his eyes, “I bathed regularly before we left home. We were on a march to war, it's not like we had a lot of rivers to stop in…” he trailed off, and Yusuf was sure it was because he was going to say something that once again marked how terrible his army had been compared to Yusuf’s. Boiled boot stew was never on the menu in Yusuf’s camps. 

“Since you love it so much why don’t you go first, give me your clothes,” Yusuf held out a hand. 

“I can’t hear you, because I’m so far away,” Nicolò said, still within grabbing distance. Yusuf tried to grab at his clothes but he managed to dodge, heading downriver. Yusuf snickered and turned back towards the children, to find Ajde staring at him. “My friend is odd about people handling his clothes.” 

Ajde just turned and looked in the direction that Nicolò went. Yusuf could see a crush formulating in her eyes, or at the very least deep admiration. With a sigh, Yusuf stepped around her towards the river. 

The eldest son, Ibrahim, and the third and last daughter, Gulshan, were already up to their ankles in the water, filling buckets as they did so. Any further from the river and the buckets would’ve been brought up to the house.

With his own clothes done and added to the bucket to be brought up to the lines, Yusuf began to help the children. The clothes they had were baggy, meant to be grown into. Ibrahim put himself in charge of the bucking of the sheets, which Yusuf was glad of. Lye was a nasty substance. He took a pile a little further up the river. Just behind a bolder. 

The soap worked, which was good, none of that rinsing and using rocks with a prayer. The further they got in their travels the more he missed the particular soap his mother used to make. Maybe after they found the dream women he’d take Nicolò to his home on the sea, and show him -

Show him what? The life he hadn’t returned to? Chances were high that after they met with the dream women Nicolò would head home to his own side of the sea. To his own favorite soap. And his own life that he’d abandoned. Although he hadn’t spoken of it often, Yusuf was sure he was fond of his family. 

When Ibrahim let out something between a gasp and a yelp, Yusuf was sure he’d gotten the lye on himself. Yusuf stood up, dropping the clothes on a rock and saw that it wasn’t lye that was the issue. 

A big man stood beyond the children, a grin missing several teeth and a long sharp curved blade held aloft. Ibrahim had pulled Ajde behind him, and she’d pulled Gulshan behind her. The two young ones stood frozen in the river. The man wasn’t holding his blade to strike, merely to threaten. What the blade wasn’t doing the man was doing with his throat, muttering in Persian where the children could hear but Yusuf was too far to do so. 

“Hey!” Yusuf shouted, the man looked at him but didn’t drop his sword, “well now, what kind of man holds a blade to children?” 

The man stared at him blankly. And Yusuf sighed, repeating the question in Persian instead of Arabic. 

“Who are you? You need not worry yourself. Carry on traveller.” The man gestured towards the trees, as if any man would just walk away from children being threatened. 

“You need not worry yourself with my name, only know that I’m watching over the children you’re threatening, and it’s my first day on the job. I hate to do poorly at anything.” 

“You should listen to him,” Nicolò’s voice came from the trees. The man looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Panic sank into the man’s eyes, as he looked from Yusuf to the forest. 

“Come now my friend, see how the man is brave when he’s threatening a boy-”

“I’m not a boy!” Ibrahim hissed. 

“- and his sisters, but when faced with another man who has a blade just as big as him.” Yusuf waited until the man was looking towards the trees again, before he pulled out his own blade and closed the distance between them. Now the chain of siblings stood behind Yusuf, and Yusuf’s blade. The man’s eyes widened and he doubled back. 

“I think you undersell yourself my friend, your blade is bigger than his. We can give him the benefit of the doubt -” Nicolò stepped out of the forest, his tunic wet and sticking to his skin, he’d shaved and trimmed his hair, which stuck out at odd angles for the favor, “-maybe he’s skilled with the blade.” 

“Alright so let’s say he’s skilled and I have a bigger blade. Although you well know I’m very skilled myself.” Yusuf took a step forward. The man took a step back, lifting his blade too high and his stance too weak. Even without Nicolò he could’ve handled this man easily enough. “Then who do you think would win in a fight?” 

“Hmm, a conundrum to be sure. If only you had a friend on your side-” Nicolò pulled out his longsword, “with a bigger blade than both of you.” 

The man’s eyes flitted between the two of them. “I have - business with this boy.” 

“Not a -” 

“He has business with the boy!” Nicolò said, before switching to Ligurian, “Did you hear him Yusuf? He has business with the boy.” 

The man’s eyes skittered between them. If he didn’t speak Arabic, a common language in the land, then how was he supposed to speak Nicolò’s far West tongue. 

“Do you think we should cut him down as a warning?” Yusuf asked in Ligurian. 

“I think drawing blood at this point would be foolish. We haven’t seen this Iqbal character and we’d hate for them to retaliate in the night. Best to just scare him away.” Nicolò continued in the same language, smiling as evilly as he could manage, being made of angels.

“You have a point friend,” Yusuf said in Persian, “his blade is very nice and it would be easier to take it off his body.” 

The trick worked, the man scrambled away, cursing them in Persian as he retreated. 

They waited until the man was out of sight before they resheathed their swords.

“You know you’re supposed to take your clothes off when you wash yourself,” Yusuf said, gesturing towards Nicolò’s wet clothes. 

“I washed them after washing myself. I figured this was best. It’s hot enough that I’ll dry soon enough.” 

“Of course you did,” Yusuf turned to the children, and switched to Arabic, “are you all okay?” 

“We’re fine!” Ajde said quickly, glancing over at Nicolò. 

“I’m a man now,” Ibrahim pointed out sullenly. 

“Yes you are, but my job is to protect you. And to wash these clothes.” Yusuf looked back at the river, the direction the man ran, “what are the chances he comes back with more men?”

“That wasn’t even one of Iqbal’s favorite men. I doubt they’d stop drinking enough to listen to him,” Ibrahim said, still smarting at the insult. 

“Either way, I’ll make sure to wash within shouting distance.” Yusuf shot a glance at Nicolò who was standing with his hand on his hilt. “I’m sure you’ll be in good company while I’m gone.”

# 

Dinner was a disaster in motion. The younger kids were chasing each other around, the ever chatty Alex (what it was short for Nicolò hadn’t managed to catch in the crush of Arabic) sat next to Nicolò to tell him a story. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was speaking too quickly for him.

The youngest child was just shy of a year old. Yusuf had been delighted to learn that the baby’s name was Yusuf. Ester gladly passed baby Yusuf off to Nicolò to hold as she tried to wrangle the younger kids. 

The baby was just interested enough in Nicolò’s face that it made it hard to eat the lamb stew Ajde had set at his elbow. Nicolò snuck bites in between distracting the baby with silly faces. While it worked for a moment, all it did was draw the baby’s attention to the food. Ajde sat between Alex and Nicolò, drawing her twin’s focus and conversation. 

Nicolò looked up to find Yusuf grinning at him. “What’s so funny?” 

“Just, hold the baby a little further away from your food.” Yusuf gestured towards his own hip, “prop the baby on your side.” 

“Won’t that hurt him?” Nicolò asked, shoving the bowl out of the baby’s reach. 

“No, babies are resilient. Here,” Yusuf shifted forward, scooping his hands under the baby’s arms. “Come to your Cousin Yusuf.” 

The baby found a new and interesting territory to explore. Mainly the fraying neckline of Yusuf’s tunic. 

“How quickly they forget those who took care of them for so long,” Yusuf said, grinning down at the baby, before he said _hi_ with an exaggerated smile. The baby found that hilarious, cracking up before returning to his attempt to consume Yusuf’s clothes. 

“I’ve never held a child so small before,” Nicolò said, wanting to reach across the table and hold the baby’s silky smooth arm once again. Instead he focused on finishing his stew. He was still learning the names and tastes of the spices used that far inland. Having lamb instead of fish for a meal was still a delight. 

“Did you not have children in your household?” Yusuf asked. 

“No, my brother was newly married and my sister and my niece lived with her husband’s family. When I left anyways.” Nicolò gave into temptation, reaching out to stroke the baby’s arm and regain a sliver of that sunshine. The baby fixed his attention on Nicolò’s hand, grabbing his fingers and pulling them apart with as much force as the baby could muster, which wasn’t much at all. 

“He likes you,” Yusuf pointed out, smiling as he did so. 

Warmth flooded Nicolò’s heart, at the sight of Yusuf holding the baby and smiling up at him. “Well I like him, feel free to let him know,” Nicolò said instead, smiling at the baby. 

“You two did well to come now, we butchered a fresh lamb yesterday,” Ester said, taking Alex’s seat.

“The food you serve is unparalleled.” Yusuf said, gesturing towards the stew, “absolutely delicious.”

“Hopefully you still think so as time goes on. Lamb stew makes the meat last the longest.” Ester leaned forward, conscious of the children who were clustering around their post dinner chores. “I hear that you two had a meeting with one of Iqbal’s men.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call it a meeting.” Yusuf tapped baby Yusuf’s nose, just to see the baby giggle. 

Ester nodded, and reached out for the baby, “Don’t worry about Iqbal and his men. They won’t bother us here. I’ll see you both in the morning.” 

With so clear a dismissal and their bowls empty, Nicolò and Yusuf set off for the stable. 

“I like Ester, she’s really a no bullshit kind of woman.” Yusuf said, once they were out of earshot of the house. 

_The kind you like to keep company on rides?_ Nicolò wanted to ask. But he didn’t have Yusuf’s teasing nature. No matter how he spoke it’d come out bitter and lonely. “You seem to know what you’re doing with kids. All of them love to ask you questions.”

“It’s because they’ve figured they can’t talk to you directly,” Yusuf circled Nicolò’s shoulders, and pulled him in for a one armed hug. Corded muscle bringing heat to Nicolò’s shoulder on a cold night. He relished the easy affection. “Never fear, friend. I’ll take care of the loud boisterous ones, and you take care of the quiet children. Like Ajde. She adores you.” 

“Hm, she asked me to teach her how to shoot earlier. She has a bow and arrow.” Nicolò made sure that every step he took in the dark wouldn’t take him out of Yusuf’s arms. If he’d just have an eternity of _this_ then he could face his long dark path to repentance. 

“Did you ever want kids?” Yusuf asked. Nicolò shot him a look, knowing Yusuf couldn’t see him in the dark. 

“I didn’t particularly give it much thought. I thought being a priest was my destiny.” 

“I did. Not as quickly as my siblings mind you. They all had at least two before I left. But there was always the idea of having a family, raising my children on the sea. Alas, I had not yet found my soulmate before I was called to go support my brethren.” 

Nicolò reminded himself that jealousy was petty, especially jealousy against an non-existent person. Yusuf was free to love who he wanted to love, and Nicolò wanted, above all else, for Yusuf to be happy. 

“Maybe you’ll find your soulmate soon.” Nicolò looked over to Yusuf, and found moonlight shimmering in his eyes. They were closer than Nicolò thought, almost a hand width between their faces and nothing more. Yusuf had one of those twinkling looks in his eye that Nicolò found nigh inscrutable. Nicolò took in a breath, feeling his eyes flicker downward against his control. Towards soft looking lips peeking out under a trimmed mustache and a short beard. 

Yusuf took in a breath too, a quick sharp intake, before he said “Maybe.” The distance shortened, and then lengthened as Yusuf clapped a hand to Nicolò’s back and stepped away. 

Nicolò shook himself, reminding himself to keep his desires far from where they could bother his friend and followed.

#

The days slipped into each other. Bookended by meals and Ester telling them what she needed next. Nicolò worked with the horses, and the twin girls. Yusuf often found himself among sheep and the elder boys. Almost a week slipped by without them noticing.

It was on a rare day that both Yusuf and Nicolò found themselves in the far pasture with the twins and Gulshan. Nicolò helped the girls lead the horses back to the stables, as Yusuf trotted along his side. 

Ibrahim met them at the edge of the pasture, and spoke in rapid Persian to the twins, who both jumped off the cart and followed Ibrahim into the house.

“What was that?” Nicolò asked, his Persian not yet strong enough to catch the speed. 

“I think they had an unwanted visitor while we were out. But they were using a dialect that even I didn’t understand.” The knowledge that the family had been using a simpler Persian for Yusuf was a bit jarring and unexpected. 

“Do you get the sense that they don’t want us to know the depth of the problem?” Nicolò asked. 

“All we can do is be ready when they ask for help I suppose.” 

The next morning, they found the fence sabotaged, a clean cut through both levels. 

The children were sent to round up the sheep, and make sure they were all accounted for, leaving Yusuf and Nicolò to fix the fence. Baby Yusuf sound asleep on Nicolò’s back. 

“This is getting ridiculous, the man is escalating,” Yusuf muttered in Ligurian, trying to keep from waking the baby. To be so very angry, even when treated with the vision of Nicolò with a child strapped to his back, was unique. Ever since he’d told Nicolò about his dream of raising a family in his small coastal city; he’d been trying to avoid this very image. It’d be far too easy to slot it into his dream, when his friend had made no indication that the feeling would be reciprocated.

“We can’t just go and murder him, we dont know where he is for one.” Nicolò looked around at the family, “No one will tell us anything because Ester will not tell us. I don’t want to step where we’re not wanted.”

“Well, he did this in the night, we wait for him to come, do something else, we follow him home, and then stab him.” As if reacting to Yusuf’s vigor, the baby yawned. Both Nicolò and Yusuf frowned, and waited for the baby to either scream or start babbling. He did neither. 

“Further, we do not know what actually happened. Just that he was here.” 

“Was the woman’s distress not enough for you?” 

“To be fair, she didn’t seem exactly stressed-” Nicolò stood up and switched to Arabic as Ajde came closer, “Ajde, your bow and arrow, can I borrow it?” 

“Um,” Ajde looked around nervously, unsure even in her adoration of Nicolò. Yusuf applauded her restraint as he was finding it increasingly hard to deny Nicolò anything.

“Sorry, it’s just that your mother said a bull trampled the fence. I’m a fairly good shot, and from the stables we can see all of the fences.” 

“Okay,” she tucked her hair behind her ear. _Poor kid_ Yusuf thought to himself. _she hasn’t even seen him in the glory of battle._

Ibrahim shouted from somewhere behind them. Nicolò and Yusuf turned, and saw a horse kicking up dust on the path from the road to the house. 

“Oh no,” Ajde said, taking off a run towards the kids in the fields. 

“Let’s go see this Iqbal man, shall we?” Yusuf said, smirking.

#

Iqbal was a squat short man, with a scraggly beard that brushed the hem of his shirt. Nicolò reminded himself that the wet patch soaking into his back was a baby drooling on him, and no matter how vulgar the man was - it probably wasn’t a great idea to pull his sword out right then and there. Instead he let Yusuf step in front of him.

“Ah, I heard that Ester had employed two men for the season.” Iqbal pulled too harshly on his reins, the horse whinnying to a stop. The poor thing. “I thought she was hiring guards but I can see that you’re here to mind the children as she prepares to hand over my goats.” 

“It's a weak man who doesn’t take care of children,” Yusuf said, “A weaker man who insults those who do.”

“I told you-” Ester said, stepping out of the house. She pulled up short when she saw Yusuf and Nicolò standing there. “Nico, can you please put the baby down to rest.” 

He didn’t need to check in with his Yusuf, but he did anyway as he strolled into the house. A quick look over Ester’s head. Yusuf shot him a wink as he always did. 

Like most families they shared one large room on the second floor. The crib for the baby tucked closest to the largest bed. Nicolò had learned in the previous few days how to take a bundled baby off his back. Baby Yusuf didn’t even bother to snort, leaving Nicolò to check that he hadn’t accidentally killed the baby. Once he was sure the baby was still breathing he looked around and spotted the bow and arrow hanging off a cabinet. 

He grabbed it and opened the window as quietly as he could, positioning himself just above the conversation down below. 

“-I’ve already told you. I’m not interested. The goats are mine and my daughters are not to be wed until they’re ready.” Ester’s voice still seemed unshaken. Nicolò wasn’t sure he could sound so level if his family was being threatened. He knew that his greatest sin was the rage that boiled just a bit too hot, and stayed with him for too long. He couldn’t forgive grievances easily. The only grievance he’d ever forgiven in his short life was Yusuf running a scimitar through his stomach. 

“You can hire all the bodyguards you want,” Iqbal said, his grin lined with malice that Nicolò could see from a story up, “that doesn't change the facts.” 

“I’ve not hired bodyguards. I’ve hired hands. It seems my fences keep breaking in the night and I have more to do than spend all of my time repairing wood. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” 

Ester stood, with her hands on her hips. When Iqbal made no movement, Yusuf raised his hand touching the handle of his scimitar ever so slightly. Iqbal pulled back on the reins, yanking his poor horse’s head back towards the road. Nicolò was going to save this family and that horse if he had anything to do about it.

# 

“Nice of you to put your inability to sleep to good use.” Yusuf said lightly, tilting his head back to look at Nicolò.

“You can sleep, I’ll wake you if he comes by.”

“He’s not going to come by without making some noise. I’m telling you now that the next time he comes he’ll be bringing an army of idiots with him.” 

Nicolò smiled, shrugging, “you’re not wrong. Hopefully he at least brings another horse for you.” 

“So we’ll buy feed, boots, and get hung for stealing horses? No thank you.” Yusuf rolled onto his side, “I don't want to be almost hung again. Not like in Damascus.” 

“How many times have I apologized for that?” Nicolò said.

“I like my neck,” Yusuf tilted his head back and rubbed his throat, “I don't fancy breaking it.” 

That got a laugh from Nicolò and Yusuf counted himself blessed. He glanced up in the low light at him. “Baby Yusuf and Ajde seem attached to you.” 

“Baby Yusuf likes my hair, he grabs at it constantly,” Nicolò muttered. Yusuf could agree with his baby counterpart. Not that he’d let Nicolò know that. 

“You’ve really not given children any thought?” Yusuf could see Nicolò as the stable parent, his quiet reassurances doing well towards wild children. He’d definitely be oveprotective, that much was true. Nicolò had a tendency to be overprotective of Yusuf and Yusuf couldn’t die. 

Nicolò’s hand flexed on the bow slightly, he glanced down at Yusuf before looking up out the window, “It depends on the partner I think.”

Yusuf hummed, and looked up at the ceiling. Nicolò wasn’t a man of many words, beyond his playful moods when they came. He’d be a slow and steady force in any life, as he had been in Yusuf’s. Endlessly dependable. His patience was a stone that only a river could carve.  
As time went on Nicolò took on more and more responsibilities, sinking his way into Yusuf’s life until he couldn’t imagine it without the quiet man. 

Yusuf looked back up at Nicolò, the moonlight was glinting off his hair. Yusuf would swear that in sunlight his hair was blond, in darkness his hair was brown, almost as if God was trying to compensate for his beauty by making him blend in with his surroundings. 

Until Yusuf was in Nicolò’s presence, he had never seen someone who’s primary mode of communication was action. Gestures that reached further than words. Their early days of linguistic confusion smoothed over by kind gestures and shared food. 

If they had children together then Nicolò would be the one that they’d run to when they had secrets they needed to get off their chest. When nightmares awoke them and they needed calm steadiness. They would play at his feet while he watched over them, caring and supportive. 

“Why are you staring at me?” Nicolò asked. 

Yusuf blinked, _I love you_ he thought fervently, _and you are beautiful._ Instead he scrambled for a question, “Does sleep still elude you?” 

Nicolò rubbed his eye, “do they look that bad?”

“No, I just find it strange is all. I sleep fine. Even when I was worried you’d slit my throat in my sleep.” Yusuf narrowed his eyes up to Nicolò, “is that it? Do you not trust me?” 

Nicolò let out a sharp burst of laughter and repositioned himself to lay across the mat, saving Yusuf’s neck from looking up. “If I didn’t trust you by now I would’ve left long ago. I’m the one who figured out the women were in the East anyways.” 

“Well -”

“Besides you must know by now.” Nicolò said, letting his mouth drift open to continue before he shut it again and smiled. “I consider you a friend.” 

“A friend is that it? Not a brother?” Yusuf asked. 

“I’ve had a brother before and he was a nightmare. I’ve been a part of a brotherhood and they ate my boots.” Nicolò shook his head, “No you are not a brother. I know you’ll always be at my back, protecting me even when I do not need protection. I know that you’ll walk with me for days on end and help me fix my shoes instead of eating them. A friend is too paltry a word for what you mean to me, but language has never been my strong suit.” 

Yusuf’s heart must’ve stopped, it's the only reason why he felt he couldn’t breath. “A partner maybe?” 

Nicolò nodded, “That does seem closer, although it’s not quite right either.” 

Yusuf wanted, with all of his heart, to lean forward, just slightly forward. But he didn’t want to undermine Nicolò’s trust with his own needs. His own desperate desire to pull Nicolò closer to his heart than any person had ever been before. 

“I will endeavor to find a word that suits our relationship.” Yusuf finally said, smiling at Nicolò. 

“Good, I put it into your hands.” Nicolò smiled, and then sat back upright, “now go to sleep.” 

He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep hearing Nicolò declare words of friendship. Possibly to say that he wasn’t a brother again. He wanted to hear Nicolò speak more. 

“When we get our answers will you return to Genoa?”

Nicolò’s fingers stroked the bow, thoughtful, before his eyes drifted back down to Yusuf, “I don’t know.” 

“Come now, you weren’t close with your brother but you mentioned a sister-” 

“Maybe to see her, one more time. But,” Nicolò shrugged, “haven’t you noticed that wherever we go we find ourselves helping people?” 

“That explains why so many of my tunics have been ruined by blades.” Yusuf joked, and Nicolò smiled down at him. 

“Yes, that. I figure if we cannot be killed then maybe we’re best suited to helping people. Traveling around …” Nicolò trailed off, and kept his eyes firmly on the window, “unless you’d rather go back to Tunis of course.”

What does a man say to that? _There is nothing in Tunis for me if you’re not there with me._

“Would you not like to go to Tunis with me?” Yusuf asked, “I would like to see your Genoa.”

“Then let’s do that.” Nicolò nudged the side of Yusuf’s head, “Now go to sleep, there’s no reason that both of us should be sleep deprived.” 

With the feeling of Nicolò’s fingers lingering on his face, Yusuf smiled and settled in for the night.

#

“You know I can cook right?” Yusuf said as Nicoló ate his breakfast one handed.

“Yes?” Nicoló responded, confusion rising “you cook most of the meat when we catch anything.” 

“No,” Yusuf said, studying him for a moment, “I can cook food like this.” 

Nicoló studied the pirashki then him, Baby Yusuf saw his window and grabbed at the pirashki, but Nicoló was quicker, lifting it out of range. “Then why haven’t you?” 

“We never settle in one place for too long. We’ll get our answers and then I shall cook for you.” With that Yusuf stood up, and gestures towards Ibrahim. “Come, let's go round up those sheep.” 

Yusuf walked out the door, all of the boys trailing after him with the exception of Baby Yusuf, who tried to grab the pirashki. With Nicoló’s eyebrow arched in confusion and watching the door, the baby was successful. 

“No! Not for you-“ Nicoló took the heel of the baked pastry back and popped it into his mouth. 

“If I didn’t know better I would think he was jealous.” Ester said, settling her work on the table. “But you have traveled together long enough for him to know I won’t pull you away with lamb.” 

Nicoló just felt more confused. Sure that there was something he was missing. 

“If it’s a concern of his he shouldn’t burn the meat I shoot.” Was all that Nicoló could figure to say. 

“Love is strange.” Ester said, before turning towards her daughters to say something in Persian. Only Gulshan hopped up and got to sweeping. Ajde muttered something back and sank into her chair. Alex just ignored her.

“Sorry, love?” Nicoló repeated wondering if he was misunderstanding. 

“Did you think you were being subtle?” Ester winked at him, “because you weren’t. It’s okay, I will not chase you away as your parents did.” 

Nicolò’s jaw dropped, and then closed. Usually he just preferred to stay quiet, but in this case he was speechless. 

“I remember when I met my husband. I couldn’t take my eyes off him either. I also worried that he’d find someone else’s food better than mine, or maybe someone else’s jokes a little better. Any number of things. But that went away with time. By the time we had Yusuf he would have spoken to a naked woman and I would know that he hadn’t noticed anything south of her chin.” 

“Mama!” Ajde hissed. 

“Oh, Ajde, someday I hope you find someone as perfect for you as your father was for me.” Ester sighed, seeming uncharacteristically lost in thought, “The jealousy will fade in time. Hopefully. If it doesn't then you have a problem.” 

“Thank you,” Nicolò said. Trying to put together what she was saying. It seemed that she was putting herself in Yusuf’s shoes, which meant that Nicolò was like Yusuf’s husband? “But I think you’re misunderstanding. We’re not -” 

Ester just patted his hand from across the table, “Don’t worry. Ajde, take your brother upstairs. Alex, help me with this knitting.” 

Nicolò handed over baby Yusuf, and tried to align the looks she was speaking of. Maybe it was that Nicolò was obvious in his affection, and Yusuf was so friendly that it seemed reciprocated. But that wouldn’t explain whatever the meat thing was. Ester laid out her knitting needles and pointed to things, speaking softly in Persian as Alex nodded. 

Thudding footsteps came from outside, and Nicolò tried to shove the conversation out of his mind. Yusuf had the uncanny ability to know when he was upset. 

But then he realized there were too many footsteps, too heavy for one man and three boys. 

Nicolò leapt up as the door opened. The man from the river had a dagger at the ready, pushing it through Nicolò’s chest as he reached for his sword. He was dead before his fingers wrapped around the pommel, he landed with a crash on the table. A faint prick of pain in his back and the world went dark. 

And then it was light again. The lantern above the table still swung from where he hit it on his way down. The knife was slowly being pushed out of his chest by organs healing and knitting together. He tried to keep his gasp of breath that always heraled his return in, as he looked up at the gaps in the ceiling. 

“Nico!” Ajde sobbed from somewhere behind him, he could make out her voice amongst her sisters’ screams. Those poor girls. He would not have wanted them to see what he was about to do. 

“Quiet!” The man in the doorway bit out, the door shutting behind him. Without Yusuf around to tell him; he only had the faintest of clues for how long he’d been dead. Three men had stepped inside the house. The river man wielded a dagger that matched the one lodged in Nicolò’s chest. Another had picked up Nicolò’s still sheathed sword. He hadn’t been on the table long enough for the man with his sword to unsheath it and lay those greedy eyes on his well polished blade. 

None of the girls stopped screaming, the center man stepped forward and growled “Our friends are outside. If you’re wise you’ll be coming with us now-” 

That was really all Nicolò needed to hear. 

Nicolò pulled the knife the rest of the way out of his chest, groaning with the pain of it even as he flung it towards the river man. Catching him right between the eyes. The screams doubled. Ajde started shouting his name like it was a prayer, or an admonishment. 

He lunged forward, using the shock of the man to his advantage, as he grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it out of the sheath, in one continuous motion beheading the man in the middle, even as he only used one hand. He brought it back, lifting up his other hand to stabilize the blade, while the needle in his back shifted and drew fresh blood. He ran the third man through his shoulder, and slammed his hand next to the man’s head as he pinned him to the wall. 

“How many!” Nicolò asked in Persian. The man looked shocked, as if he’d just witnessed someone come back to life, “How many!” he shouted again in Arabic. 

The man looked from Nicolò to the girls behind him, and Nicolò felt a rage take him over. He grabbed the man’s chin, and turned his face back. 

“How many men are outside?” Nicolò asked again, emphasizing each word. 

“Eight,” the man whispered, almost impossible to hear over the girls. The litany of his name had stopped. 

“Iqbal?” Nicolò asked. 

The man nodded. 

Nicolò pulled the sword out of the man’s shoulder and shoved it back into his heart.

As his body thudded to the floor, Nicolò used the dead man’s tunic to brush the blood off his sword, and take a second to regain his balance. He didn’t want the girls to see his rage. His anger at men harassing an innocent family. 

He turned around to see that the girls were clustered in the corner, Ester attempting to wrap her arms around all of them, holding Ajde back by an arm draped over her chest. Alex was holding Gulshan, both their eyes wide. All the girls had gone silent. 

“Sorry you had to see that,” He said. He reached for the needle in his back, and winced, it was lodged just out of reach. 

“You were dead,” Ester said. Looking down at the blood splatter on her table, the ruined fabric of her project, “you were dead.” 

Nicolò nodded, “that… happens sometimes.” 

Ajde slipped out of her mother’s grasp, Ester reached out and tried to capture her by the back of her tunic. 

“Mama, it’s Nico,” Ajde said quickly, before stepping around the table and pulling the needle out of Nicolò’s spine. It was bent at the tip, it felt like it hit the inside of his ribcage. He let the feeling of pain flood him, and felt his organs fill in the void.

“Thank you,” He said. “Now go over to your mother, she’s worried.” 

“Are you a demon?” Ester asked, before looking at the men on the ground, “or an avenging angel?” 

Gulshan was gaping at him in awe. So young and she’d already witnessed a miracle followed by a tragedy. Or a tragedy followed by a miracle. 

“Resilient is all.” He said, he pointed over his shoulder, “the men-”

“You,” she pointed at the pool of blood on the table, “that all came from you.” 

“Ester, there are men outside who want to hurt your family. I know you’re scared but will you let me go take care of them? Then I can explain as much as I can.” Nicolò held out a hand, trying to be reassuring from a distance. “Don’t worry. I need a bow and arrows, I left Ajde’s in the barn.” Something to scold himself over later. 

Ester pushed Alex towards the stairs, and Gulshan too, “go get your brother’s bow. Quickly.” 

Alex returned with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. The one in the stables was better quality. This one felt like a boy’s attempt at being a man. He still had his sword, and if worse came to worse he could take on eight alone. 

But, he knew Yusuf would pout if he didn’t get to help. “Is there any way to get to Yusuf and the boys without being seen?” 

Adje and Ester shared a look, before Ajde nodded, “I can get them -” 

“Not them. Have the boys stay far from here. Tell Yusuf to come as quick as he can.” 

Ajde nodded and rushed towards the backdoor. Leaving Nicolò standing with Ester. 

“So, he’s like you?” Ester asked. Nicolò nodded. “Good, I was worried that you would be caught in the crossfire.” 

“More often than not we put ourselves squarely in the middle of crossfire.” Nicolò picked up the bow and arrows, hoping he’d be able to get a few shots in before they rushed him. If it wasn’t for the girls and the baby he would’ve tried to pick off a few from the second floor. 

Ester met him at the door, her hand catching his on the door frame. “Please don’t … die again.” 

“Trust me, I do not try.”

#

As Yusuf ran across the field, he dimly remembered the first time they met in battle. How Nicolò’s blade had shone in the late afternoon sun, even as blood began to drip from it. The sight of Nicolò with blood dripping from link to link in his chainmail had Yusuf’s blood boiling.

Now the sight of Nicolò in a bloodstained grey tunic had Yusuf’s blood boiling again, but this time in a different way. 

“Yusuf!” Nicolò said, jerking his head towards two men who were dashing for their horses. It was easy enough to change his path, aiming straight for the men as they yelled at each other and their horses. 

The horse spooked at his approach, giving him enough room to cut down one man. He spun out of range of the second man’s sword, before slicing him down as well. The horse bolted, and Yusuf didn’t blame him. He wasn’t sold on the keeping the horses idea. 

He turned to help Nicolò just in time to see his friend be run through with a sword. Iqbal pulled the sword out of Nicolò’s chest, and sliced his throat. Quick, harsh movements, meant to kill. He was too focused to see Yusuf come up behind him, and run him through as well. He turned, and Yusuf, the poet that he always wanted to be, felt it was fair to cut Iqbal’s throat. 

Iqbal landed on top of one of his men, and Yusuf stepped over him to rush over to Nicolò’s side. Everytime they died Yusuf was worried that it’d be the last time they stayed alive. 

“Nicolò? Nicolò!” Yusuf landed on his knees in the mud and blood, splashing Nicolò’s tunic. He scooped his hands under Nicolò’s shoulders, lifting him up. His head lolled back too far, a sick mimicry of relaxation. Yusuf shifted his hands and lifted his Nicolò’s head. Blank unstaring eyes looked up at the sky. “Come back now, we have to find the dream-” 

Yusuf cut himself off to press his lips to Nicolò’s forehead, as if that would help. 

In his arms Nicolò gasped, his hands clutching and grabbing at Yusuf’s tunic. Yusuf pulled back, and tried immediately to make a joke, to make Nicolò smile again. “You were gone for almost twenty seconds that time.”

“The longest twenty seconds of your life?” Nicolò asked, coughing as Yusuf lowered him onto his lap. The gash in his neck healed. There was more than one stabbing tear in his tunic.

“It always is. How many times were you killed?” 

“Just twice. Once inside.” Nicolò sighed, “did the horses run away?” 

“I’m sad to say I scared them off. But I maintain that we’d be hung as horse thieves.” Yusuf pulled Nicolò to his feet, keeping his hands wrapped around his, an arm slung around his shoulder as if he wasn’t sure that Nicolò wouldn’t just fly away. 

“We don’t want that now do we?” 

Yusuf looked around at all the bloodshed, the bodies sliced with Nicolò’s sword, a few crumpled corpses by the door with arrows sticking out of their head. “We might get hung anyways.” 

Nicolò leaned into his shoulder, his arm coming around to settle on Yusuf’s hip, as if the nights of sleeplessness had finally caught up with him. “Not if we get rid of the bodies quick enough.”

# 

Ester was the one to come up with the idea. To dump the bodies in the river and let them float away, obscuring the point of death.

Nicolò insisted on not letting the children have a hand in it. He’d seen more corpses in his life than he hoped any of the children would ever see. Ester’s only concession was that she help as well. 

Yusuf had a tendency to cling when Nicolò had a brush with death. It was a newer tendency. Sometime after Damascus but before Mecca it had appeared. Although Yusuf hadn’t really touched Nicolò outside of battle until after they left Mecca. Walking along a cart piled high with corpses probably wasn’t the best place to ponder this, but as Yusuf gave up riding in the cart to walk along with him - it’s unavoidable. 

Their friendship, partnership, immortalityship had been a slow but steady creation between them. Safe spaces created on quiet nights next to fires. Laughter and quick elbows to ribs as they walked. More than once Nicolò had wanted to reach out, and hold Yusuf’s hand in his own as they journeyed from place to place, rescuing as many as they could. 

Now the temptation is in him. It would be easy, afterall Yusuf’s shoulder is bumping into his. Their packs are sitting in the cart’s front seat. An unspoken goodbye waiting to happen. 

Before he could muster the courage to hold Yusuf’s hand or at the very least ask him why he was jealous of lamb, they’re at the river. 

Ester took care of the heads, for those who lost theirs in the heat of battle, while Yusuf grabbed shoulders and Nicolò grabbed ankles. Tossing them into the river not too far away from just the day before they’d returned to the river to wash.

It seemed a little morbid to wash just slightly upriver of where the bodies were drifting away, but both of them were covered in blood, and assorted internal organs. 

“Damn,” Nicolò muttered, breaking the silence. 

“What’s wrong?” Yusuf asked, standing in his breeches just a few feet away from him, washing his tunic in the water between his knees. 

“This tunic is absolutely ruined,” Nicolò held it up, holding his hand through the slashes, the embroidery coming apart and already falling out of the fabric. 

“It’s just a tunic, we’ll get you another.” 

“I like this tunic, It’s my favorite,” Nicolò said, “you got it for me.”

Nicolò turned towards Yusuf, holding it up, only to find that Yusuf was _looking_ at him again. The same way he did over the fire at night when they were full and conversation slipped to a comfortable silence. Or when Nicolò studied items at the market to understand how they work. Or when Nicolò claimed Yusuf’s scimitar with the boast of _I’m better at sharpening than you, and this desperately needs to be sharpened._

“Are you done? The children are approaching and I’d rather not let my girls see grown men naked.” Ester said from the shore. Breaking the moment. 

Nicolò pulled on the sopping wet tunic, the blood stains and gashes over unmarred skin making him look like a vulture who picked clothes off the dead. Rather than the dead itself. 

“We were never naked,” Yusuf announced. Stepping onto the shoe. 

“And now look, your small clothes are probably soaked through. You’ll get a rash.” 

“We... “ Yusuf looked over at Nicolò, as if checking to see if this was okay information to give out, Nicolò shrugged, “don’t get rashes.” 

“This gift that God has given you is certainly odd,” Ester said. 

“We’ll change once there’s more distance between us and this place.” Nicolò said, aiming for reassurance. 

“That’s good. If the villagers knew a christian killed one of their own they’d be out for blood.” Ester said, turning away from them to wave at the children. Nicolò shot a look at Yusuf, wondering what gave him away this time. Yusuf apparently found that it was his turn to shrug. 

Ibrahim and Ajde were riding a pair of horses. Ones that Nicolò recognized as a bonded pair from the herd. Ibrahim jumped on the ground next to his mother, pulling a stack of fabric out of one of the saddle bags. 

“Here,” Ester said, turning towards them, handing the stack of clothes over to Yusuf, “They belonged to my husband. They were big on him so hopefully they’ll fit you. I’d say ride for an hour or so before you stop to change.” 

“Ride?” Nicolò asked. 

“Yes, I know you were planning on purchasing horses in the next town over, Yusuf was asking me questions about it -” Ester grabbed the reins for Ajde’s horse as she jumped out of the saddle, giving Nicolò a chance to shoot a glance at Yusuf, who was looking everywhere but at him, “- but these horses are past their prime and looking for one last adventure. They’ll take you far and you’ll get a good price for them at the foot of the mountains.” 

“This is too much Ester, we can’t possibly take them,” Yusuf said. 

“You’ll take them, and the saddles, the saddlebags. Ajde packed a few days worth of food for you and feed for the horses.” Ester said, taking a pouch from Ajde, “and this is what we agreed upon for a week of work-” 

“We can’t accept this,” Nicolò said, even as his feet begged him to take a horse for the next leg of their journey. 

“Of course you can. You protected my family. The least I can do is protect you as well. It’ll be a day or so before the villagers catch on. I want to make sure you’re both as far away as possible if I cannot redirect eyes elsewhere.” Ester glared at the spot where they’d dumped Iqbal’s body, although the current had washed him far away. “I will not let anyone get hurt over goats.” 

“It was never about the goats,” Nicolò said, when Ajde put the reins in his hands, he didn’t stop her. Because it wasn’t about the horses either. “You know that right?” 

Ester smiled, just a slight tilt of her mouth, “I’m going to miss you two.” 

Ibrahim was already dousing the cart with buckets of water from the river, rinsing out the unsavory remnants of Iqbal and his men. 

Ajde stood next to her, looking as if she was on the verge of tears herself. “There’s a cave about a day’s ride East of here. If you’re quick you can make it before it gets too dark.” She told them the landmarks, and how to find it as Nicolò and Yusuf put the contents of their packs into the saddle bags, and tied the bedrolls to the saddle. 

“Thank you Ajde. Keep practicing with the bow and you’ll be a great hunter someday.” Nicolò said. Ajde offered him a stiff nod, and took a step back from the horses and them. 

“Thank you for everything Ester,” Nicolò said, and gave her a quick hug. She patted him on the back and stepped back to hug Yusuf as well as Nicolò hopped on the horse. 

Nicolò could hear her faintly whisper to Yusuf, _he prefers your lamb._ However before he could say anything, Yusuf was pulling himself up into his saddle. 

“Until we meet again,” Nicolò said, as he always did. Then they turned the horses east, and rode off.

# 

Yusuf wasn’t the kind of man to be upset when his weaknesses were on display. Besides it was easier for him that Nicolò led Yusuf’s mare as he rode his own. It made the day pass quickly as he wondered what preferring lamb could possibly mean.

The cave had a firepit already in it, as Ajde said it was a way station for their family on their journeys to take their wool further. The division of setting up their camp came easier, as Nicolò knew how to take care of horses and Yusuf was more than happy to focus on the fire. As was their custom at this point Yusuf laid the bedrolls next to each other. Nicolò, the light sleeper he was, always insisted on being closest to the entrance. 

He opened the food packs and found two wrapped Pirashki along with some nuts and dried fruit. Damn Pirashkis. He couldn’t exactly deny Nicolò of the food he apparently adored. He grabbed one and stood up, walking towards the entrance where Nicolò was situating a feed bag in front of Yusuf’s mare, petting her snout and murmuring to her in Ligurian. 

“I don’t know how you can prefer the all over body pain to the rocks in your shoes pain,” Yusuf said, “and I don't know if she speaks Ligurian.” 

“It won’t hurt as much once you get the hang of it,” Nicolò patted her nose again, turning to look at Yusuf, “and it’s not the words that matter as it is the energy behind them. I’m letting them know we’ll take the best care of them while we’re together.” 

“Hmm, could you also tell her not to bounce me so hard?” Yusuf asked, winking at him. 

“I thought no one has ever complained about your riding before,” Nicolò shot back, turning to face him. 

All manner of filthy things came to mind, but instead of saying them, Yusuf lifted up the pirashki, “here you go, dinner.” 

Nicolò smiled, the firelight twinkling in his grey blue eyes. As if he’d just remembered a particularly good joke. 

“What? What is it?” Yusuf said, lowering the pirashki slightly. 

“Nothing,” Nicolò said, reaching for the pirashki. He took it with one hand as his other grabbed Yusuf’s wrist. He pulled Yusuf across the short distance between them, tilting his head up. 

Nicolò’s lips were soft but firm against his own, just misaligned enough that he mostly caught Yusuf’s upper lip in a soft and tender kiss. His pirashki holding hand came around Yusuf’s shoulders to hold him in tight. 

His body reacted before his mind did, hands grabbing Nicolò’s hips to pull him in closer, leaning forward to change the angle until it’s just right. Licking into Nicolò’s mouth, even as he can feel the curve of Nicolò’s lips smiling against his own. 

He’s had both less and more innocent kisses. Somehow this one found the exact right level he’d never knew he was looking for. As if Nicolò wasn’t trying to seduce him but rather say, _hey, I’m on the same page as you and we have forever._

It left him wanting more when Nicolò pulled back, Yusuf tilting forward to chase those smiling lips. He caught another kiss, and another, before he let Nicolò pull away. 

There’s a thousand things he wanted to say. _I love you_ or _come raise my children by the sea_ or _the word you’re looking for us is family_ but the most pressing thing spills out of his mouth first. “I want to make you Brik.” 

Nicolò tilted his head, Yusuf was very aware of the sensation of pastry poking into his back. 

“Brik?” Nicolò asked. 

“It’s a pastry, from my hometown. Stuffed with meat and spices. You’d like it.” He said, tipping a little too close to earnest. But he’s never been a man ashamed to put his weaknesses on display. 

Yusuf was beginning to suspect that he knew what was causing the twinkle in Nicolò’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to take care of him. 

“I’m sure I would,” Nicolò tightened his arms around Yusuf’s shoulders, pulling him for another kiss, “I can’t wait to go to your home and try it.” 

Yusuf wanted to ask him if he’d travel with him forever, but Nicolò’s lips were soft and _right there_ so he figured they could work out the details later. They had all the time in the world afterall.

# Epilogue # 

Nicolò woke slowly, with the tendrils of sleep still wrapped around him. Grain at the corner of his eyes made him blink against the soft light surrounding him. For a moment he felt so safe and comfortable that he thought he was in his bed in the rectory. But he never had a man in that bed, let alone one whose nose was pressed into the nape of his neck and toes pressing into the bottom of his feet - with not a single pocket of air between them elsewhere.

They were fully dressed, as was their custom on the road. Nicolò had taken off his boots to sleep, figuring they’d only hinder him if he had to run in the night. He patted the hand pressed against his chest, holding him as if he was a life line. 

“He lives,” Yusuf said against the base of his neck, beard brushing against the sensitive skin there and making him shudder. 

“Of course,” Nicolò reluctantly let go of the hand on his chest, to rub the grain out of his eyes, “Whats that light? It’s not the fire is it?” 

“It’s sunlight,” Yusuf shifted, propping himself up on his elbow, as Nicolò twisted in his arms to look up at him. 

“Sunlight?” He asked, something unabashedly flirtatious on the edge of his tongue, like _I thought you were the sunlight_. Ready to slip out and embarrass him. 

“It’s a few hours past dawn.” Yusuf informed him, smiling. 

Nicolò kept turning, shifting down so he could nose his way under Yusuf’s jaw, and use Yusuf’s bicep as the best pillow his head had ever been on. “I don’t sleep that late.” He never had, even as a child. 

“Well you slept like the dead last night. I had to check your pulse to make sure I hadn’t broken a spell by kissing you.” Yusuf said, his hand slowly stroking Nicolò’s back as Nicolò held him closer. 

“I kissed you,” Nicolò pointed out, “and I’m not a fairy tale creature.” Despite it being a few hours past dawn, he felt he could just go back to sleep. He felt so warm and safe in Yusuf’s arms. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Yusuf asked, sounding confused. 

Nicolò leaned back, blinking up at him, “did you not want me to?” 

“No, I did, I just wasn’t sure what I had done to inspire such a glorious event.” Yusuf met Nicolò’s eyes with his own. Nicolò loved the tenderhearted way he looked at him, with that crinkle at the corner of his eye. 

“You were glaring at the pirashki like it offended you.” Nicolò finally admitted. 

“I was not!” Yusuf denied, smiling down at him. 

“You were, as if you could treat me better than a meat pastry but you knew I wanted the pastry so you felt like you had to give it to me anyways.” Nicolò shifted, pressing a kiss to where Yusuf’s neck met his chest, “it was endearing.”

“You kissed me because I was jealous over a meat pastry?” Yusuf asked dryly, his hand running through Nicolò’s hair as Nicolò settled back onto his bicep. 

“Hmm,” Nicolò hummed, his eyes drifting shut. He couldn’t help it. It just felt good to his very bones to be in Yusuf’s arms. He could explain how it felt when Yusuf asked him to go to Tunis with him, or what it was like to walk with him day after day. How he could talk to Yusuf about anything and everything. How his favorite part of the day was settling next to him at the fire and practicing his Arabic. But the words would take too long to say, and he can feel himself about to drift off again. “It was a lot of things all at once.” 

“Nicolò, we might be wanted for murder, we shouldn’t linger too long.” Yusuf said, rubbing Nicolò’s back again. 

Nicolò turned his head, so Yusuf could feel his frown against his bicep. “Just a little while longer.” 

Nicolò could feel Yusuf’s chest rise against his own as Yusuf sighed, long and dramatic, “fine, but only because I can’t stand the thought of letting you leave my arms.” 

“Romantic,” Nicolò muttered against Yusuf’s arm, and drifted back into sleep as easily as sinking into water.

**Author's Note:**

> * Types into google "how much force would it take to behead someone with a longsword" * "no don't search that you'll get onto some lists." 
> 
> Note on food and languages: 
> 
> As this story somewhat takes place in whats modern day Iran - I used mostly Iranian names/food items with no sources that I could access about the history of those names/food items. The Turkish exception being Ajde - who presumably was named after her father returned from the conquest of Anatolia. 
> 
> If anything sticks out as incorrect please let me know and I shall fix it. 
> 
> My crusades class in college helped me with none of this, as it was mostly about King Richard and his obsession with Saladin. Mostly my research is yanked from like other historical situations and drawing conclusions. Please take everything with a grain of historical salt. The focus of my degree was on Spain and it's colonies which I could've set this story, but ... I did not.
> 
> Edit: So .... makroud is usually a cookie rather than a savory pastry. I discovered this while researching for the sequel for In Pursuit of the Best Taste. I've updated this story accordingly. Sorry!


End file.
